


And the Greatest of These

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Comfort, Hope, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Magical Realism, Multiple Buckys, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), multiple Steves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: *** INFINITY WAR SPOILERS ***Even if someone seems dead, that doesn't mean they are. If it takes Death's intervention before that's believed, then that's what it takes, even if Death has to slip between worlds to do it.(This is a sequel toBleached Bones and Fallen Snow. I tried to keep the summary as vague as possible to avoid specific spoilers)





	And the Greatest of These

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my post-Infinity War comfort fic and it's a sequel to _[Bleached Bones and Fallen Snow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8504761/chapters/19490446)_ , which is about Death Steve, but I didn't want to make it a sequel in case someone had subscribed and inadvertently got spoiled by an email alert. 
> 
> Title is from the Corinthians in the Bible: "Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love--but the greatest of these is love."

"…Steve?"

Bucky reached, just like he'd reached before, history repeating, like fate had doomed him to always reach and never grasp, to forever fall away from Steve's hand.

It didn't hurt. Not his body; his heart was another matter, Steve's anguished eyes slicing through him, but it didn't hurt to fall.

Just like it didn't hurt last time, not until he'd hit the ground.

He waited for the impact, but hands grabbed his shoulders and wrenched, pulled, the world twisted under him and he was standing a few feet away from where his body had crumbled to dust and ash, hands on his shoulders. He tore himself away, whirled.

Froze.

"Steve?"

The man facing him was Steve from lifetimes past. Short and thin, radiating strength, he looked like Steve, but Bucky met his eyes and recoiled, because they were _wrong_. They were the same blue, gentle with compassion, but steeped in shadows with weight beyond Bucky's comprehension.

He shook his head, backing away, searching for his Steve. He saw him through a blur like rippled water and turned, to go to him, to stand by his side as he knelt, mouth moving in words Bucky couldn't hear, but this Steve who wasn't Steve wrapped fingers around his metal arm.

Once more Bucky _froze_ , because he could feel them, feel those long pale fingers like they were wrapped around flesh.  

He thought of pulling away. He assessed the strength in those fingers and wasn't sure he'd manage it. "What's going on?"

"The world walls are splintered," the man who wasn't his Steve said, the man Bucky wasn't sure was a man at all, with his shadowed eyes and his touch Bucky shouldn't be able to feel. Shuri's arm was incredible, but even it couldn't mimic flesh so perfectly. "And it gave me—" He stopped, tilted his head like he was listening, and went on, "Us an opportunity."

Bucky didn't know whether to ask who _us_ was or to ask _what_ _opportunity?_ ; the splintered world walls he could figure out on his own, even if he didn't know what it meant. He didn't care right now, all he cared about, and maybe it made him a selfish prick, was Steve, kneeling, fingers trailing through the ash that used to be _him._

This man who wasn't Steve followed his gaze. "Yes. He's part of why. So much death." His voice dropped to a low murmur. "We're watching. From every world we're watching. All we can do is bear witness." His head tilted again, listening. "Yes. And we can do this, we can give him a gift."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? What's going on? I'm dead, right?" He was partially transparent and his body had turned into ashes; it seemed like a safe assumption.

"No, you're not dead. None of you, the ones who crumbled, are dead. You're…gone. Misplaced. Like I said, the world walls are splintered, they've been scattered among the worlds. But their Death hasn't come for them, and neither has any other." He caught Bucky's gaze and Bucky was falling again, slipping away into fathomless deeps. "Except for you."

Impossible things weren't something Bucky believed in anymore, because he'd learned there was no such thing as impossible. And this man who was holding his arm, who looked like Steve from so long ago—if he was saying what Bucky thought he was saying…Bucky didn't have it in him not to believe. "You're Death?"

"Yes, but I'm not yours."

"What does that mean, you're not mine? People have their own Deaths?"

"No, but worlds do, and I belong to another world. I slipped through the splintered cracks and grabbed you before you could disappear."

"Why?"

For the first time, Death—why he looked like Steve, Bucky didn't know and maybe he didn't want to know—seemed uncertain. He turned his head to the side, a clear question on his face, then nodded. When he turned back to Bucky, there was…warning in place of the question and his fingers were tight. "Because of him."

A figure shimmered into being next to Death. If Bucky had still had lungs, he'd have sucked in a breath, no such thing as impossible or not, because it was _him_. A washed out, slightly transparent version of him, looking like someone had mixed up who he'd been during the War with who he'd been in HYDRA's hands, blue coat and silver arm, and something fragile behind the eyes he remembered from before Wakanda, from before Bucharest.   

"I asked him to come," the new…old, Bucky guessed, version of himself said. "Steve won't be able to give you long, but it should be enough."

"Steve?" Bucky asked.

The other Bucky moved closer to Death and curled a hand around his waist. "Him." Death…Steve…Death-Steve, swayed into his side. Bucky recognised it, entirely unconscious movement, two people so in tune their bodies reacted automatically. "I named him." There was pride, there. "It took me a long time to remember, but I named Death."

Death-Steve grinned up at him and the other Bucky grinned back and there was so much love in it Bucky had to turn away, pain ripping through him like a panther's claws. Steve was still kneeling, like he'd been frozen once more, and Bucky tugged against Death-Steve's grip, needing to get to him.

"Bucky." The gentle voice, ancient as oceans, deep as glacier lakes, warm as desert winds, wrapped around him and through him and eased the agony. "You can give him hope. You can tell him you're not dead. You can tell him none of you are dead. You can give him _hope_." The grip on his arm tugged him back around. "You won't have long. I'm breaking I don't even know how many rules, but none of us will care. We all hate what Thanos is doing and your Steve is the universe's best chance of stopping him."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No." The absolute certainty of it shivered down Bucky's spine. "We're here for you, and for him. Are you ready?"

He wasn't, but he nodded. Light flared in Death-Steve's eyes, a flashing hint of stars, and Steve, his Steve, was on his feet, whirling towards him, face as empty as uncarved stone, but his eyes were locked on Bucky, begging him to be real.

"Bucky?"

"It's me. Sort of. I don't have much time. Steve." He threw himself forward and his arms passed right through him. "Damn it!"

"Bucky, what's going on? What's happening? Are you real? Or—" Steve shook his head, took one step back.

"No." It was firm, no room for argument. "I'm not a hallucination. And I'm not a ghost. I'm not dead. None of us, the ones who turned into that shit," he pointed at the pile behind Steve, "are dead. He said the world walls are splintered. He said we, they, fell through the cracks. But we're not dead. Just misplaced. You can bring us back."

"Bucky." His name was softer this time and Steve lifted a hand, skimmed it over the curve of Bucky's shoulder, up his neck, curled his fingers like he'd cup his cheek if only he could touch him and Bucky leaned in, because he could almost feel Steve's warmth. "Who's _he_?"

Bucky laughed, short, baffled, confused. "Death."

"But you're not dead?"

"No. He made a special trip to grab me before I disappeared. So I could talk to you. So I could give you hope. So you'd know we're not gone forever."

" _Why_?"

With a split-second to decide, Bucky went with, "Because he knows you're the best chance the universe has." Steve dropped his chin into his chest, closed his eyes, and clenched his fists. "And because he knows how much I love you." Steve's head shot up, his eyes bright. "You can do this. Fuck knows you shouldn't have to, you've given more than anyone should ever have to give, but I know you can."

Steve pulled in a deep breath and Bucky watched strength flow through him, like he was absorbing it from the air, as he stood taller, stronger, the edge of despair fading away. "I'm gonna bring them all back, Buck. I'm gonna bring you back."

"I know you will." Bucky grinned at him. "You always do."

After a second, Steve laughed wetly. "I wish I could touch you."

More than anything Bucky wanted to grab him and hold onto him. "Same here."

"I love you." Steve held out his hands, palms up. Bucky did the same, palms down, hovering over Steve's.

"I love you, too. Go fuck that purple bastard's shit up. You've got Death on your side." Steve's hands were getting clearer. No, Bucky realised, his hands were getting more transparent. "I've gotta go."

"I'll find you."

"I know. I don't think I'll be able to come back until you do."

Steve nodded, standing in silence as Bucky vanished.

"I'm sorry," Death-Steve said. He was leaning heavily on the other Bucky, obviously drained. "I couldn't give you any longer."

"No, no, that was—" He clamped down on saying anything else, because he needed a minute to get his shit together, and turned to watch Steve. Steve was staring at the spot where he'd disappeared, his jaw working, then he nodded. Nodded again, lifted his head and looked around.

Bucky knew that look. He'd seen it in back alleys and on the battlefield. He knew what it meant. It meant Steve Rogers was ready to fight—not Captain America, _Steve_ , and that was a hell of a lot scarier. "Kick his ass," he murmured and made himself turn away as Steve strode off.

They were both watching him and he was touched by the concern in their eyes. Suddenly, he wanted to know their story. He wanted to know what had happened to his other self. "What happens now?"

"I have to let you go. This was only ever temporary." Death-Steve gave him a small smile, and it was almost perfectly Steve's smile, which raised goosebumps on his skin, because what did it say about his Steve that he shared a smile with Death? "I'm sorry. We'd keep you with us if we could."

"You've given me, given us, more than anyone could've ever asked. There's no way I can ever pay you back. I'm ready to go."

The other Bucky lifted a hand in farewell and Death-Steve's eyes fell into shadow as the world faded to nothing. It was like a bungee cord snapping, releasing tension he hadn't known was there, and he smashed though darkness, curling into a ball as nothingness surrounded him, turning into wind and sound and light.  

He crashed into someone, flattening them to ground. They shoved him off, then groaned, "Oh, hell, no. I'm stuck with your pasty ass?"

Bucky rolled onto his back and laughed up at the blue sky. "Hey, Sam. Good to see you, too."


End file.
